Maya stood at the ocean’s edge, gray-streaked locks twisting in the wind, the tang of salty mist filling her lungs. The pendant around her neck weighed on her like an old, rusty anchor. She clawed at it, struggling to banish memories of his lies and betrayal, until it slipped free into the breaking foam, releasing the life her young, naïve self had once clung to.
She’d give anything for the chance to turn back time, to experience the magical melody of whale song again—to feel it reverberate through her body.
Memories flooded her mind: the vibrant colors of coral reefs, the sound of the ocean waves, and the salty tang of the sea.
Maya…
Scanning the waves, she wiped her cheeks and, as if drawn by a magnet, waded out into the frigid, shadowy water.
She dove under, letting the current carry her until it pulled her into its inky darkness. Her chest constricted as she struggled, limbs flailing to reach the surface.
Let go…
Maya stopped fighting, let her thoughts drift and surrendered to the sea. Something deep within her shifted, then she heard it: the mystical lullaby of whale song. Its tendrils wrapped around her, set her cells tingling, humming, unraveling, then reweaving. The cold faded as her burning lungs quieted, soothed by the rhythm of the sea.
Maya’s tail sliced through the water, laughter bubbling from her lips. She twirled, basking in this forgotten, delicious surge of freedom.
Ripples stirred nearby. Hope and uncertainty churned in her chest. Her sisters emerged from the murk, their gazes wide, their untamed, sea-glass-adorned tresses shimmering in the moonlight.
With palms pressed to her cheeks, Maya blinked back tears. She had assumed her sisters had already moved on. Their safety depended on it. But they were here before her, and as beautiful as she remembered them—Neve, Ondine, Brina, and Seraphine.
One by one, they gathered close, tentative hands caressing her face and hair. The weight of Maya’s journey wordlessly passed between them, weaving itself into their shared memories.
And then, under a sky stitched with stars—where nothing mattered beyond this moment—Maya finally exhaled.
G.R. LeBlanc is a haiku poet, fiction writer, and managing editor of The Hoolet’s Nook, an online publication dedicated to short-form writing. In her downtime, you’ll often find her puzzling over NYT word games with a chai latte in hand. Learn more at https://sleek.bio/grleblanc.
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